The next night, we kicked off the rehearsal over dinner.
Ashton sent the staff away at my insistence.
Then, instead of sitting across from as usual, he slid into the seat beside mine, like we were already at his grandfather’s party playing the happy couple.
He pointed out where people would be sitting, who I needed to watch, which uncle faked being vegetarian to impress his green-juice-obsessed wife but secretly smashed steaks like a cave troll, and which one nearly blew up a construction site because—get this—he thought a pile of dynamite looked ‘fun’.
Also, there was a cousin who might co for my throat because Ashton had apparently gotten her arrested for reckless driving.
It was the most he’d talked to since this whole thing started.
And even though his tone was all dry and matter-of-fact, the stuff he said was... weirdly funny.
I found myself loosening up and even occasionally cracking a laugh.
The rehearsal continued after dinner.
By then, I’d accepted my fate.
It was just hugging, right?
Except this ti, Ashton upped the difficulty level—front hug, side hug, handshakes, air kisses, that dramatic couple’s entrance thing where I was supposed to hook my arm through his and glide in like we hadn’t been awkward strangers a week ago.
And the weirdest part was, it started feeling... normal.
Like, dangerously normal.
Like muscle mory was kicking in.
So much so that when we sat down to take a break, I kinda... passed out.
Yeah. Dead serious. I fell asleep.
On him.
Like full-on napping, face smushed against his shoulder, legs curled up, drooling-on-his-shirt kind of passed out.
I blad the wine.
When I finally stirred and blinked at the wall clock, it was past ten.
Which ant I’d been out for nearly two bloody hours.
I sat up so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.
My hair was a ss.
My brain was scrambled eggs.
And I’d just spent two whole hours unconscious in Ashton’s arms like so love-struck romcom extra.
Kill now.
What was worse—he’d let .
He’d just sat there. For two hours.
Letting sleep on him.
Like we were... that kind of couple.
Nope. Absolutely not.
I swatted those thoughts away like mosquitoes on a humid night.
I sat up properly, fingers combing through my tragic bedhead. ‘Think we’re good for today?’
‘Yeah.’ He leaned back. ‘We’ll run it again tomorrow. Daily practice until we et my grandfather, if it’s okay with you.’
‘Cool,’ I mumbled, pretending I wasn’t still ntally screaming into the void.
The way the Laurents operated, I wouldn’t be shocked if they held family dinners with lie detectors under the placemats.
Ashton being the (rumoured) bastard son probably made him a walking target.
No wonder he was so... calculated.
I stood. ‘So... dinner and hugs again tomorrow?’
I was thinking maybe we should rehearse talking points instead.
Maybe a family cheat sheet, nas, ranks, shareholding charts...
‘No. Tomorrow we rehearse the kiss.’
I froze. Turned slowly.
‘Kiss,’ I echoed, incredulous. ‘As in, kiss kiss?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
I blinked. ‘You an like... an air kiss?’ Hopefully.
‘Do couples air kiss?’ he countered.
‘They do if they’re in France.’
He quirked a brow. ‘Are you sure the French are only air-kissing and not, say... French kissing?’
My soul flat-lined.
‘We’re not actually going to French kiss in front of your grandpa, are we? What if he has a stroke?’
Ashton smiled. Just a little, which sohow made it worse. ‘No French. Just a kiss. The sort couples do when they’re dating.’
Yeah, no big deal.
Just my mouth.
On his.
In front of an ailing patriarch and a family full of snoops.
Casual.
‘You’re not joking?’ I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
‘I’m not.’
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Tried again.
I probably looked like a dying goldfish on land.
‘My cousin tried sothing similar,’ he said. ‘Hired a girl to play the girlfriend act. It was Christmas Eve, the whole family was there. They fooled no one. His mum cut off his allowance for three years. Till he brought ho a real girlfriend.’
I stared. ‘Wait—seriously?’
He gave the ‘I’m-a-man-of-facts’ look. ‘Do I look like I lie for fun?’
No. He looked like he filed lawsuits for fun.
But that was beside the point.
My brain whirred like an overheating hard drive.
If soone saw through us, would Ashton get hit with the sa treatnt?
He didn’t exactly strike as the type to take criticism lying down, let alone roll over for a punishnt.
Still. I’d promised I’d cooperate.
While I was still standing there like soone had brained with a frying pan, Ashton got up from the sofa like he hadn’t just casually drop-kicked my sanity.
He brushed past on his way upstairs and tossed over his shoulder, ‘I’ll be ho early tomorrow.’
Then he disappeared around the landing.
I stood there in the middle of the silent living room.
My legs finally gave a sad little twitch of protest, so I dragged myself upstairs and faceplanted onto the massive bed.
As soon as I shut my eyes, the word ‘kiss’ started doing naked cartwheels across my ntal sky.
I must’ve fallen asleep sowhere between sha and denial, because the dream that hit was straight-up X-rated.
I was flat on my back, pinned to a leather sofa I didn’t recognise.
Soone was kissing the breath out of —hot, ssy, and way too real.
My skin felt like it’d been cranked up to lava and my brain had noped out entirely.
I tried to push him off, but every ti I squird, he just followed.
The room was blurry.
The world didn’t exist outside of that touch, that mouth, those hands.
I couldn’t see his face, but everything in scread I knew him.
My body did, anyway—my heart was too busy having a ltdown.
Then, just before dawn, the dream finally handed a na to go with the body.
Ashton Laurent.
I jolted awake like I’d been tasered.
‘Nope,’ I muttered, slapping my cheeks to manually reboot my system.
I grabbed my phone—7:30 a.m.
Countdown to kissing practice had officially begun.
Nope nope nope.
I needed a plan.
Preferably one that involved not being within ten tres of Ashton’s mouth.
Ti to make a run for it.
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